


Skeletons in the Closet

by tisfan



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: for the prompt: We’re hiding from the authorities and it’s very close quarters in here, I can feel your body against mine.





	Skeletons in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fierysky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierysky/gifts).



****“What sort of moron keeps all their files in an actual filing cabinet? Hasn’t this fossil heard of the internet? Cloud storage?” Daisy flipped through endless stacks of paper; some of them were handwritten, some were newspaper clippings inside clear sleeves, and some of them were obviously typed up on the relic that sat, silently judging them, on the desk.

“Probably the same kind who has secrets to keep and knows that hackers are after them,” Robbie muttered. “Also serial killers. You know, with the whole corkboard and string creeper shit.”

Daisy scoffed. “I don’t think that’s what he’s up to. He doesn’t appear to be picking victims, he’s tracing connections.” She ran one hand over the cabling, touching a picture of a woman connected to a yellow piece of string that led back to a map. “Which is still easier with a computer.”

Robbie snapped his tiny flashlight at another document. “This dude’s handwriting is terrible,” he said. “I vote we arrest him for violations against literacy. Do you think--”

Whatever he might have said was lost as Daisy held up a hand in a sudden _stop_ gesture.

Movement in the hall. _Fuck_ , Daisy mouthed.

Technically, they were there illegally. The guy may or may not have had connections with the Watchdogs, but they didn’t have a warrant, or even reasonable suspicion that might have obtained a warrant. They couldn’t be caught. Vigilantism was part of Shield’s whole schtick, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be bad PR to be _caught_ doing it.

Robbie slid the article back into the file and lightly closed the cabinet drawer with tented fingers. Daisy still had her stack under her arm and there wasn’t time to get them back in place. She was going to have to hope the suspect didn’t notice.

Assuming they could--

Robbie jerked his chin toward a narrow door on the side of the room. Before she quite knew what was happening, he’d pulled her through the door into what seemed to be a coat closet, filled with slickers and trench coats, a spotted fake fur. Hats galore. A box of fake mustaches, and dozens of wigs on dummy heads.

Great. Their maybe suspect was also a disguise fanatic. Most people were not as good at that as they thought, but also, most other people were bad about noticing. Which meant any -- or none -- of the descriptions they’d gotten on the guy could be the wrong one.

Robbie tugged the door shut behind them, trapping them in blackness as thick as pitch. She backed up as far as she could and slid behind the rack of coats, and Robbie backed up with her, pressed against her.

Daisy forgot that she knew how to breathe.

Robbie’s lips found her ear in the blackness, and she felt, more than heard, “he’s in the room.”

Like she couldn’t have figured that out herself. This wasn’t exactly her first damn rodeo, thanks very much, Demonspawn.

“Well, that’s concerning,” the man said from inside the room, his voice a rumbling sort of drawl. Had they left something out, or a drawer open or… what? Fuck. Robbie grabbed her hand and squeezed, like he was trying to tell her something telepathically. Whatever it was, she skipped hand squeezing communication in high school; in fact, she skipped most of high school, come to think of it.

She slid back further in the closet, until the wall was touching her shoulders, tugging Robbie with her. He shoved back further than absolutely necessary, because his entire body was covering hers. She could practically feel the heat baking out of him.

It wasn’t ideal, and it wasn’t like they were scared of the guy; every bit of information they’d gotten didn’t suggest he was a powered person. And even if he was, both Robbie and Daisy could probably kick his ass individually, much less working together. But Coulson would be furious if they got on the news again.

Technically, she might not have had official permission to pursue the lead in the first place.

Footsteps approached the door. Daisy grabbed hold of Robbie’s jacket, pulling herself even closer and tucking her face against his chest; the white stripe on the leather was easily visible, as would their eyes, in the darkness, if someone opened the door.

She could feel the entire length of him, from knees the shoulder.

And everything in between.

Especially that.

Christ, he was--

She rocked her hips against him experimentally, testing. Yeah, okay, that was not a gun in his pocket.

The doorknob rattled and Daisy held her breath.

Then, “Moooow!”

“Oh, Catsby,” the man sighed. “Did I forget to feed you, do you need the feedings, come on, then--”

Daisy tucked her face closer to Robbie’s jacket, trying to stifle her giggles. “Did he name his cat Jay Catsby? Oh god. What a _dork_.”

“Most literature dorks are serial killers,” Robbie said, his voice a hot whisper through her hair.

“Pretty sure the Unibomber was a math major,” Daisy hissed back at him, trying not to die from the giggles. Because if their suspect heard them, they probably wouldn’t die, but they would get caught.

Robbie huffed air against her neck and his whole body was trembling with suppressed laughter.

The way their bodies moved together as they tried to contain their nervous giggles was… _interesting_. Daisy found herself almost absent-mindedly stropping against him, like she was a cat and he was her human. She’d been growing more and more aware of Robbie, not as an ally, or a powered person, but as a man, during the months they’d been working together.

She’d told herself she wasn’t in a good place for a relationship; her terrible experiences with Ward, coupled with lingering guilt over Lincoln’s death, and she was just… maybe she didn’t even deserve it. Couldn’t bring herself to be that vulnerable again.

After all, Lincoln made his sacrifice, made his choice, and he wasn’t the one in pain, was he?

And now, here was Robbie Reyes, host for some demonic parasite, who was rolling his hips against hers, and breathing a whisper of heat onto her throat, and she was on fire with awareness. Her groin ached with sudden need, and her whole body did a little shiver as she went loose and liquid between her legs.

“What are you doing?” Daisy demanded, like she didn’t know. Like she didn’t want him to. Did she? She wasn’t quite sure, but whatever it was they were doing, he was going to use his fucking words and acknowledge it. She wasn’t going to.... What, schtupp in a closet and then pretend like nothing happened. He was going to say something, or this was going to close out right the fuck now.

“He’s in the house,” Robbie pointed out, like he was being only reasonable. “Can’t leave, until he goes to sleep, now can we, girl?”

“And your plan, for this time period while we wait for him to feed his cat and go to bed is what, exactly? We’re supposed to be all quiet and stuff.”

“Hey, I’m a literal skeleton in the closet,” Robbie joked, pushing against her again. “No one’s gonna investigate if I rattle around a little.”

“You know, when they decided to call it _boning_ , I don’t think they meant it actually literally,” Daisy said, and then her own pun was too much, and she was tipping her head back, tears beading at the corner of her eyes as she tried not to shriek with the giggles.

And then Robbie had a hand on her breast and his mouth on her throat, and all the laughter transmuted into a throaty groan. Her nipple puckered against the fabric of her bra, sending a sizzle of sensation right into her chest.

Robbie left his hand right where it was; her heart was pounding so loud in her chest that she was positive that he could feel it. “Do you-- I ain’t readin’ this wrong, am I?” She couldn’t see anything more than the shadow of his face for a moment, then his eyes glowed, one pumpkin orange and one goblin green, shedding a bit of light on the moment. He stared at her from under thick lashes.

When Daisy didn’t say anything -- her throat locked with conflicting wants and worries -- Robbie took his hand off her, tried to step back.

The rush of air between them cooled her off, too cold, really. She shivered at the loss, then grabbed his jacket and pulled him back to her. “You’re not reading it wrong,” she confessed, and there was freedom in that confession, and a sudden wave of understanding.

Robbie had _already_ died; the Rider had brought him back. She couldn’t kill him. She couldn’t possibly be responsible for his death. He was as close to invulnerable as anything she’d ever seen.

Maybe the only man she could be with who wouldn’t leave her.

The relief that accompanied that particular epiphany made her near-delirious with desire, giddy with glee. She pulled him back in and kissed him like her life depended on it.

And then they were necking like teenagers, rough and scraping teeth and heavy breathing (and petting) to go with it. Daisy’s fingers worked open Robbie’s fly and slid inside the opening, while Robbie pushed her shirt up and her bra down to get at her breasts.

It was awkward and hot, stifling and uncomfortable, ridiculous and glorious all at the same time.

They were as quiet as possible -- okay, no, they’d left possible behind quite a while ago, but maybe they could avoid getting caught, and Daisy wasn’t even sure she cared anymore -- and as minimal as possible.

Robbie got a hand down the front of her pants and into her drawers and started fingering her, lewd and wet and thorough, while she stroked him with the heel of one hand. There wasn’t time, or room, for anything more, but Daisy thought if she didn’t come soon, she was going to explode.

She squirmed around, spreading her legs for him; his hands were narrow, with long fingers, thank all the gods she didn’t believe in, because there just was not room in here for what she needed, and then he was sliding two fingers in and out, and rubbing her with his thumb.

She arched backward, smacking her head into the closet wall (ow!).

“Oh, yes, right the--” She forgot that she was supposed to be touching him, she forgot that she was supposed to be quiet, and Robbie kissed her to muffle the sounds she couldn’t help but make, desperate, whining little mewls as she rode his fingers as best she could, wide eyed and panting for breath in the darkness.

When she came, she bit down and tasted blood. Robbie’s blood, a little trickle from his lip that was more like smoke and sulphur than copper.

Her biting him seemed to drive him to greater lengths and he stropped himself against her, rubbing his cock against her exposed belly.

“Oh, girl,” he whispered, “you are so damn _hot_.”

He rutted against her stomach, steel and velvet against her tender skin and she was still sparking and twitching from aftershocks. Daisy got her hand down here, and his circled his dick from the other side until they were jerking him together. Robbie fucked up between their hands.

She lost all track of time as they slid together, as she squeezed gently and twisted her hand ruthlessly, until his breath was coming in short, eager pants. She yanked a napkin out of her pocket -- she used them all the time to open doors without leaving fingerprints, and here, she wanted to leave even less evidence behind -- and got it in place just as Robbie stiffened and spurted up into the napkin.

He was as silent in ecstasy as he was in his rages, quiet and intense and utterly sensual.

She wiped him down with quick motions, even as he hissed at the oversensitivity and the not-particularly soft material. She grimaced and then tucked the napkin back into her pocket, folding evidence gloves around it. She’d take care of that later.

Much later.

They righted themselves and their clothes, although based on his kiss swollen lips and how badly wrinkled her shirt was, anyone who looked at them would know what they were doing.

Another hour or so in the closet before their suspect fell asleep and they dared sneak out of their hiding place.

When they reached the Hell Charger, Daisy realized she still had a handful of documents tucked inside her jacket.

Hopefully, they’d give them the evidence they needed, because going back… yeah, that probably wasn’t going to happen.

“Where have you been?” May snapped as soon as Daisy pulled up her comms to check in.

“Hiding in a closet,” Daisy said, truthfully.

“Oh, is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?” Phil snarked. She could almost hear the pleased grin in his voice.

“Something like that, sir,” Daisy said.


End file.
